


Tied to Nothing

by Sang_argente



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Sad Stiles, Stiles-centric, suddenly made up werewolf lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:23:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sang_argente/pseuds/Sang_argente
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every wolf has a mate, but not every wolf finds them. After all, Peter didn't find his. Stiles found him instead. But just because they're mates in a fairytale way doesn't mean they're in line for a happily ever after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I like you, Stiles," Peter admitted, voice strangely light for the situation. "Since you've helped me, I'm going to give you something in return. Do you want the bite?"

"What." Stiles didn't understand. His brain was stuck on the fact that a vengeful murderous werewolf _liked_ him. Peter, super hot Alpha, wanted to give something to him because he was thankful for Stiles's help. How was this his life?

"Do you want the bite?" Peter repeated, slowly. "If it doesn't kill you, and it could, you would become like us."

Dry mouthed, Stiles struggled to come up with an answer. He needed words, preferably words that made sense, but he could tell Peter was getting impatient so at this point any words would do. "Like you."

A glimmer of doubt sharpened the blue of Peter's gaze. "Yes, a werewolf. Would you like me to draw you a picture?"

Stiles could feel his cheeks heating as Peter's rudeness caused a heavy flush to crawl up his face. He knew that Peter had thought he was special, that there was something within Stiles that made him worthy of being offered the bite instead of being forced to take it. He also knew that his sudden slowness was causing Peter to doubt himself.

"That first night in the woods I took Scott because I needed a new pack. It could have easily been you," Peter said quietly, his voice calming Stiles's panic. "You'd be every bit as powerful as him. No more standing by his side, watching him become stronger and quicker, more popular, watching him get the girl. You'd be equals. Maybe more."

Stiles stayed quiet, watching as Peter stretched out a hand and grabbed his wrist. He knew that he didn't want to be a werewolf, but he didn't know how to tell Peter that. Peter, the beautiful Alpha who was pulling Stiles's wrist closer and closer to his mouth.

"Yes or no?" Peter asked quietly, staring at Stiles as he slowly let his fangs descend.

It felt as if time stopped- as if Stiles and Peter were suspended in a frozen moment. And it was when that moment continued that Stiles ripped his arm out of Peter's grasp.

"I don't want to be like you," Stiles spit out shakily, feeling his heart stutter and knowing Peter would call him out on it.

Just like he predicted, Peter's gaze on him sharpened and his brow furrowed. "Do you know what I just heard? Your heart beating slightly faster over the words 'I don't want'. You may think you're telling the truth but you are in fact lying to yourself. Now, why is that, Stiles?"

"I. . ." Stiles licked his lips nervously. Was he really going to do this? Catching sight of Peter's interested gaze, he knew that he was. "I don't want to be a werewolf. I just want. . ."

Peter tilted his head and flared his nostrils as he caught Stiles's scent, the normal mix of electricity and rain with a new hint of spice. That spice was familiar to Peter in that it clung to teenagers persistently, but it was new to Stiles's unique scent. He pulled Stiles close, moving his hand from the boy's wrist to his neck, watching as Stiles's body responded with dilated eyes, flushed cheeks, and a stuttering heartbeat. "What is it, Stiles? What do you want?"

"You," Stiles whispered, his heart pounding in honesty. "I don't want the bite. I just want you. I want to be yours."

At the soft confession, Stiles let go of all the tension he'd been carrying practically since Scott had gotten bit. His body slumped forward until his head rested against Peter's shoulder, his face turned into the man's neck. For some reason, Stiles knew that Peter would take care of him and protect him. All the insanity of the past few months was Peter's doing, so if anyone was going to stop it, it would be Peter. He knew he was right when the man's arms came up and wrapped around him, pulling him tight against Peter's body.

"It's alright," Peter murmured, running his hands over Stiles's back softly. "I understand now, Stiles. I'm sorry I haven't treated you properly, but I will. It's alright."

Stiles was a little confused at Peter's sudden attitude change but appreciated it nonetheless. Now he knew he was right in trusting his instincts when it came to werewolves. He had known since the beginning of all this craziness that Derek was nothing more than a puppy acting as a wolf to get people to do his dirty work and now, here with Peter who was the prime example of a strong wolf, he was glad that he wasn't blind like Scott. If he had been, he would have been destroyed.

"I'm going to bite you," Peter murmured, pressing his lips against Stiles's ear. "Don't worry, you won't become a werewolf. It'll just be a tether from me to you. It'll help me take care of you the way you deserve to be."

Pulling away slightly, Stiles looked up at Peter curiously. "How will it do that? Where are you going to bite me? Does the placement of the bite affect the way it works?"

Peter smiled down at Stiles softly. "The bite will go on your neck so that it becomes the right kind of bond. A bite on the side is a turning bite, as is a bite on the wrist but with a few differences. Our bite will allow me to know your emotions beyond what I can scent. It will also take your emotions out of your scent for all other werewolves. They'll no longer be able to scent you beyond your natural smell. In extreme cases, you might not have a scent at all."

"Werewolves can smell emotions?" Stiles asked, mortified.

"Only the trained ones can decipher what they smell," Peter comforted. "As it stands, that's only Derek and myself."

"But when you bite me, you'll be the only one?" Stiles clarified. At Peter's nod, Stiles smiled and tilted his head just the slightest bit. "Do it."

If Stiles hadn't been watching closely, he would've missed the flash of hunger in Peter's eyes before the Alpha shot forward and buried his face in Stiles's neck.

"You're sure," Peter spoke against Stiles's warm, flushed skin.

"Yes," Stiles gasped, his breath hitching as sharp fangs pierced him. A low buzz spread over his skin, from the bite outward, and his blood grew hot. He brought shaking hands up from his sides to grasp Peter's shoulders tightly. He could feel himself sliding away from consciousness, quicker and quicker, but right before he fell completely, he could feel a tightness around his heart, jerking a little. It was sort of like someone had tied a string around his heart and was pulling it to tie around someone else's. Someone like Peter. "Oh, Peter. . ."

***

It was dark. And heavy? Where was that horrible ringing noise coming from?

Stiles groaned, curling into a ball and pulling a pillow over his head to block out the racket. He let out a sigh of relief and relaxed slightly when it stopped, only to whimper when it started again a few minutes later.

Giving up, he threw a hand out to grope around the headboard for his phone. He answered it blindly, already hating the person on the other end. "'Lo?"

"Stiles!" Scott greeted loudly, his panicked voice causing waves of pain to crash through Stiles's head. "Where are you?!"

"Are you crazy?" Stiles mumbled tiredly. "I'm in my bed. Why?"

"Why?!" Scott practically screeched. "Dude, you just disappeared from the dance and Lydia's in the hospital and so much shit went down with Kate and Peter."

"Peter?!" Stiles repeated, his voice cracking. Memories of the night before flooded his brain, snippets so clear it was as if they were happening all over again. The car ride, the snarking, the bite! Remembering what he had felt right before he had passed out, Stiles searched inside himself for that tether only to whine quietly. He could feel the knot around his heart but the string felt as if it was just stretching into an abyss. "Scott, what happened with Peter?"

"He killed Kate," Scott answered sadly. "But it's okay because he's dead too and now Derek is the Alpha."

"Peter's dead," Stiles said to himself, feeling the knot tighten around his heart before his mouth went dry. "Derek's the Alpha?"

"Yeah."

"Scott, I have to go," Stiles barely got out before ending the call and tossing the phone away. All he could focus on was the knot and string and what it all meant. "Peter's dead."

It was over. Minus Lydia being hospitalized, they were at the end they had all wanted. Scott wanted to be free from the Alpha, Peter had wanted all the people responsible for the fire to die, and- it was clear now- Derek had obviously wanted to be the Alpha. Everyone got what they wanted. Except Stiles.

"This isn't taking care of me," Stiles whimpered, his voice thick with tears. He brought his knees to his chest and tucked his face away, feeling the tears slip down his cheeks and soak his pants. "This isn't taking care of me _at all_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I was going to write a really long chapter that went through the whole first episode of season two but before I could finish some things happened tthat ends with me having a splint on one wrist and too much to type with one hand. I hope you guys like this chapter anyway and I'll try again next weekend!!

Three days. It had been three days since Peter's death and Stiles felt horrible. He wasn't eating or sleeping. Every night he laid in bed and felt his tether stretch into an abyss, an abyss that felt as if it was getting larger and larger as time passed. Stiles was a little scared that it was going to swallow him up but something inside him thought that it would be better that way. Sometimes the only thing he could focus on was that abyss because he knew that that was where Peter was. All that really mattered, though, was that Peter wasn't here with Stiles.

“Stiles.”

At the sound of his father's voice, Stiles turned away from where he was staring blankly at his laptop screen. He could see his dad wince at the sight of ever-growing dark circles underneath his eyes; he knew that he looked awful but also knew that he felt even worse. “What is it?”

The sheriff hesitated in the doorway, his eyes tracing all over Stiles's form. “Scott called again. He wants to come see you.”

“No,” Stiles said firmly, trying to ignore the sharp burst of blame that shot through him at the mention of Scott. “No. I don't want to see him.”

“I don't know what happened between you two, son,” the sheriff sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “However, I'm sure it's not as bad as you're making it out to be.”

Stiles turned back to his laptop, focusing on an article about mythical creatures, his heart pounding quickly. Scott being the actual werewolf didn't mean that his lycan actions only affected him. Being unfair to his dad was all on Stiles though, so he tried to end the conversation as quickly as possible. “Please go away.”

“Stiles-”

“Please.”

Before either of them could say anything else, there was a loud chirping coming from the sheriff's hip to signal a phone call. Stiles's dad sighed and answered it reluctantly.

“Stilinski.”

Stiles ignored his father's phone call, keeping his eyes trained on an article that he'd already read, back when Scott had first been bit. It wasn't very informative but there was a particular section that had stuck out the first time that Stiles wanted to take a second look at. It had some bits that Stiles hadn't understood then.

_“A werewolf's mate is essential to their sanity and control. Should a werewolf lose their mate, they would become a vengeful beast. In the case of true mates, the werewolf would be able to focus on nothing but its strong bloodlust. When werewolves mate within their kind, both wolves are able to initiate the claiming or mating bite. When werewolves mate with other creatures, including humans, only the werewolf itself can init--”_

“Stiles, Lydia is missing from the hospital.”

At his father's urgent tone, Stiles looked up at him despite his disinterest. He knew his father would only be more suspicious if he acted as if he didn't care about Lydia. Which he did, of course. She just wasn't what was important right now. “Do they have any leads?”

The sheriff shook his head, distressed. He turned to make his way down the stairs, but stopped and sighed. “I'm heading to the hospital. Do you want to come?”

“No,” Stiles answered absently, turning back to the article. “No, I have to stay here.”

“Are you sure? I mean, this is Lydia we’re talking about,” his dad said, watching Stiles closely. He kept his eyes on Stiles’s face as he answered, surprised at the anger and sadness in the amber depths.

“Lydia doesn’t matter!” Stiles exclaimed, flailing his arms in emphasis before pulling them in and wrapping them tight around his body. “Nothing matters. Don’t you get that?”

Shaking his head slowly, the sheriff replied, “No, son, I don’t get that. I get that the life of a sixteen year old girl may be at stake, I get that she is missing and severely injured, and I get that it is my duty as Sheriff to find her. That matters.”

As his dad finally walked away, Stiles turned back to the screen and read the most important bit of the article in front of him.

_“No one is certain how exactly a human is affected by mating with a werewolf, but some common traits are shared in every mating between a human and werewolf. The human will experience slightly heightened senses as well as a dampened scent. Both the human and werewolf will experience a sort of bond between them that keeps them attuned to one another. Most advisors of the supernatural theorize this to be because the human cannot experience the bond between wolves in the way another werewolf would be able to. However, the only true certainty they can count on is that should the werewolf die, the human will follow shortly after.”_

“The human will follow shortly after,” Stiles repeated to himself, his voice hollow and quiet. He was so focused on those words that he didn’t realize he was no longer alone. Someone had joined him.

“Stiles!”

Stiles moved so quickly that he fell out of his chair. Once he managed to pick himself up off the floor, he looked up at his visitor and froze. At the window stood the one person Stiles never wanted to see again.

“Derek Hale,” Stiles greeted coldly, tightening his arms around himself again in a desperate attempt to keep from shaking apart with anger. His heart, unusually slow and steady these past few days, was rocketing up to an uncomfortable rate, pumping so fast that Stiles was worried it might beat right out of his chest. “What should I attribute this unfortunate visit to?”

Frowning deeply, Derek ran his eyes over Stiles, taking in all the little details. The boy in front of him was still as defiant as ever, but instead of standing tall and in his face, he was careful to stay on the opposite side of the room. “Stiles.”

“What?!” Stiles snapped. “What do you want?”

“Scott says that you won’t see him. Why?” Derek asked, trying to move closer but freezing when he saw Stiles flinch back.

“That’s none of your business,” Stiles said. “That’s between me and Scott. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Doesn’t it?” Derek asked, watching Stiles track his every movement. “It looks like it has a little to do with me.”

“It has nothing to do with you,” Stiles repeated, keeping his voice firm.

“You keep moving away from me. Are you afraid of me now that I’m the Alpha?” Derek asked, masking his surprise at the darkening of Stiles’s expression.

“Don’t make me laugh,” Stiles hissed, heat and anger lacing every word. “You may be an Alpha, but that doesn’t mean I’m scared of you. It means I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“You can’t avoid me, Stiles,” Derek explained. “I’m Scott’s Alpha now since I killed Peter.”

Stiles froze. He had known Peter was dead, Scott had told him that, but he hadn’t known that Derek was the one who killed him. He had just figured that Kate and Peter had torn each other apart in some hunter/werewolf showdown. Sure, he’d blamed Derek and Scott a little for not helping Peter, but now? Now he was just pissed.

“That’s Scott’s problem,” Stiles spit out. “Me, though? I’m not a werewolf so that means that you mean nothing to me.”

“You’re Scott’s best friend,” Derek said calmly, panicking on the inside at the thought of Stiles refusing him. “If you wanted to be a werewolf, I could Bite you.”

Stiles’s face paled in an instant and his muscles went lax in fear. “Don’t you dare. Don’t come anywhere near me.”

A sharp spike in Stiles’s scent, something Derek had been having trouble deciphering this whole time, alarmed Derek and he stepped forward as if to comfort the boy in front of him. “Stiles, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Moving quickly, Stiles went around Derek and put his back toward his bedroom door. “Get out.”

Derek’s forehead crinkled in confusion. “Stiles-“

“Get out!” Stiles yelled, throwing his hands out in Derek’s direction. He froze and watched in shock as Derek was forced out the window shortly before the glass slid down and slammed shut, the lock flicking to the side. Before he could look down at his hands fearfully, his fingers twitched suddenly and the blinds fell while the curtains slid together, blocking out any and all view of outside. 

“What the Hell. . .” Stiles whispered, staring at the completely covered window. He was so shocked that he barely felt the knot around his heart tugging wildly.


	3. Chapter 3

In hindsight, Scott probably wouldn't be so insistent if Stiles had talked to him over the weekend. It would have been easier, but Stiles had been far too upset to handle Scott's particular view of what had happened with Peter. But all the avoidance and ignoring had led up to this moment, to a Scott who was completely ignoring the growing look of rage on Mr. Harris's face because he was too busy trying to get Stiles's attention.

Stiles opened his mouth to tell Scott to stop, but Mr. Harris's voice stopped him before he could say anything.

"This is a pop quiz, Mr. Stilinski. That means no talking. The same goes for you, Mr. McCall."

"Mr. Harris?" Stiles called out questioningly, his hand raising into the air tentatively. "May I change seats?"

He ignored the other students who had turned to stare at him in disbelief. Not only was he actively talking to Mr. Harris, but he was also asking to move away from his best friend? That was practically unthinkable behavior for Stiles Stilinski.

Confusion flashed across Mr. Harris's face so quickly Stiles almost missed it, but he definitely saw the nod of the agreement the teacher gave him. "Very well, switch places with Mr. Mahealani. You'll sit there for the rest of the semester _without_ antagonizing Mr. Whittemore. Finish your quiz and see me after school for detention."

"Yes, sir," Stiles agreed quietly as he moved his books to where Danny was gathering his things across from Jackson. It wasn't necessarily his first choice of seating, but it was far enough away from Scott that if he tried to get Stiles's attention again, Mr. Harris would see him before Stiles. As long as Jackson kept his comments to himself, it would be fine.

Of course, that was too much to ask for.

"Aw, did the dream team split up?" Jackson whispered across the lab table.

Stiles looked up resignedly, a harsh remark held ready on the tip of his tongue, but the look on Jackson's face stopped him. At first glance, it looked like his nose was bleeding. As he stared longer, Stiles realized that it wasn't blood dripping from the other boy's nose. It was a thin black goo, sliding from both nostrils slowly.

"What are you staring at?" Jackson growled, baring his teeth angrily.

Shaking his head, Stiles looked at where Mr. Harris was marking papers at his desk before facing Jackson and whispering quickly. "Your nose is. . .bleeding."

A swift hand came up and swiped at the offending substance. Jackson stared at it, frozen in the moment, before he jumped out of his seat and ran out of the room.

"Mr. Whittemore!" Mr. Harris called from his desk, before turning to look at Stiles. "Mr. Stilinski?"

Stiles stared up at his teacher with worried eyes. "His nose just started bleeding out of nowhere. It was pouring! Is he going to be okay?"

Before Mr. Harris could answer, the bell in the hallway rang shrilly. He sighed.

"Leave your quizzes at your tables. I'll collect them later. Mr. Stilinski, don't forget about your detention."

"Yes, Mr. Harris," Stiles muttered lowly, packing his books into his bag quickly. He hadn't been able to answer a single question between Scott and Jackson, leaving a quiz with nothing more than his name written sloppily across the top. As he rushed out of the Chemistry classroom, he wished he could care more.

He was so focused on how angry Harris would be when he found Stiles's blank paper, that he didn't notice Allison until it was too late.

"Oof!" Stiles gasped, reaching out to keep the other person standing. He looked up from his feet and caught sight of Allison's teary eyes just as she ducked her head. "Allison, I'm so sorry! I wasn't even looking where I was going. Are you okay?"

Allison shook her head quickly, scrubbing her free hand over her face. "No, it's my fault, I shouldn't have run around the corner like that. That was just asking to hit someone. Are _you_ okay?"

A flippant answer came to him, but he pushed it away when she looked up at him, sadness plain in her glassy eyes. He sighed quietly and pulled her in close. "Don't worry about me. What's got you so upset?"

"I was at my locker getting, y'know," Allison bit her lip, shaking the dress she held weakly. "There were these girls talking behind me. They were saying, well, nothing untrue but-"

Stiles nodded in sympathy, trying to push down his instinctive _rage_ and _hurt_ at the thought of Kate. "She was your aunt, Allison. It makes sense that you're upset at her death. No one is asking you to forget everything she was to you just because of something she did. That wouldn't be right or fair."

"Thank you," Allison whispered brokenly. She wrapped her arms around her middle and shook her head. "It feels like that's what everyone wants from me, like they've never had someone they love do something bad."

"If this is rude or whatever, you can just ignore me," Stiles started slowly, hesitant to offer but instinctively knowing it would help the _relationship_ between the Argents and the werewolves. "I could go with you, if you want. To the funeral, I mean."

Allison looked up at him, a mix of hope and awe poorly hidden on her face. "Would you really?"

"Of course I would," Stiles said. "You're my friend and you shouldn't have to be alone."

"Thank you," Allison said, grabbing his hand in hers. "I'd really appreciate having someone there with me. Someone who's not my parents, I mean."

Stiles held her hand tightly. "I understand. Listen, I have detention with Harris after school, but I'll be there as soon as I can, alright?"

"Thank you, Stiles," Allison repeated, reaching up to place a quick, chaste kiss to his cheek. She pulled away and smiled weakly, squeezing his hand one more time before turning to walk away.

Standing there drowning in a heavy mix of hurt, anger, and sympathy, Stiles didn't realize he was the only one standing in the hall until the piercing ring of the bell shook him out of his thoughts.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Sit," Mr. Harris said quietly, pointing at one of the front lab tables. He stood in front of his desk, arms crossed and staring. "Would you like to explain to me why you turned in a blank test?"

Stiles's heart sank. If Mr. Harris was angry enough, he'd keep Stiles in detention all night. Normally, that wouldn't be a big deal, but he _had_ promised Allison to be there for her.

"I'm sorry, sir," he replied, picking at a spot on the table absently. "I couldn't concentrate."

He watched as Mr. Harris sighed heavily and brought his arms down, pale hands gripping tight to the desk. There was a smudge of red ink on the back of the teacher's hand, most likely left over from an accident while he was grading papers earlier. It was dark, much like the shade of red Peter's eyes had been right before he bit Stiles.

"The past few days you have been quiet, obedient. . .an exemplary student if there ever was one," Mr. Harris said flatly. "If I were any other teacher, I might wonder what happened to you. As such, I only care that you do the work for my class as completely and efficiently as is possible. Tell me, Mr. Stilinski, do you know your grade as of the last test?"

"Um. . ." Stiles chewed his lip roughly, thinking. "It was somewhere in the A range?"

Nodding, Mr. Harris moved to pick up a small packet of papers from his desk and laid them in front of Stiles, talking all the while. "At my last calculation, it was a ninety-seven. Very impressive considering your usual antics. Regardless of your sudden personality change, I would hate to see such promise falter. Finish that and you're dismissed."

A nearly illegible _Stiles Stilinski_ written in the top corner told Stiles that the paper in front of him was his quiz from earlier. He didn't really understand why Mr. Harris was letting him finish it now, but he would bet that his unwillingness to aggravate the teacher during class had been the cause. Which was good because, well, his chemistry grade _was_ impressive and he knew for a fact that it was the highest in the class. That was something Stiles took great pride in, considering Mr. Harris was usually a bit of a dick.

In a normal class, with the sound of twenty or more pencils scratching and feet tapping, Stiles would let everything else fade to the background and become a strange sort of white noise, let everything fade from his senses so he could concentrate. In detention, however, there was only him and Mr. Harris. With nothing but the quiet, irregular sound of his teacher's breathing, it was much easier for Stiles to work.

Finishing one of Mr. Harris's pop quizzes in half an hour had to be some kind of record.

Stiles rose from his seat, slinging his bag over one shoulder as he got ready to leave. He stood by the table patiently, waiting for the Chemistry teacher to acknowledge and dismiss him.

"In the future, I expect you to work harder at finishing your assignments in the time I allow you, Mr. Stilinski," Mr. Harris said authoritatively, only continuing after Stiles nodded his head in agreement. "You will sit with Mr. Whittemore again tomorrow. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir," Stiles replied, almost completely out of the classroom before Mr. Harris had finished speaking. At any other time with any other teacher, he might not have been so rude, but he had to get home and change for the funeral. It would take some minor law breaking, but if he ignored a speed limit here and there, he was sure he'd make it in time.

A quick fumble of fingers later, his Jeep was running and his phone was calling Allison. He was pulling out of the parking lot when she finally answered.

"Stiles? Is that you?"

"Hey, yeah, hi," Stiles spit out breathlessly. "I'm on my way home to change, I just wanted to let you know that I hadn't forgotten, or bailed, or anything. I tried to get out of detention as fast as possible but-"

"Stiles!" Allison cut him off, laughing shakily. "It's okay. I promise I wasn't thinking any of that. I knew you had detention, remember?"

Stiles maneuvered the Jeep as carefully as he could, trying his best to stay off the radar of his dad's deputies. Or worse, his dad. "Right, yeah, I was just checking. I'm almost home now, so there's plenty of time, but I promised you and I don't break my promises."

He kept the bitter _unlike Scott_ trapped tight between his teeth. Allison didn't need anything else to worry about, not today of all days.

"No, yeah, I know," Allison agreed, her voice soft and sweet with understanding. "I'll see you at the cemetery, alright?"

"Yeah, sure," Stiles answered. "I'll let you go. Bye."

"Goodbye, Stiles."

Letting his phone fall from his shoulder to the seat beside him, Stiles tightened his fingers on the wheel and exhaled shakily. He wasn't using his phone, he wasn't swerving, so if he could get home without being pulled over for speeding, everything would be good.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Contrary to what Lydia Martin probably assumed, Stiles didn't have some sort of unhealthy obsession with plaid. In fact, he had a whole closet full of well-fitting, fashionable clothes that he never wore because when he did it was usually in circumstances that put him off the whole _designer geek chic_ thing and kept him comfortable in the _nothing to see here_ box. Circumstances like this one, for example.

"Mr. Argent," Stiles greeted softly, looking from the man in front of him to the two women at his side. "Mrs. Argent, Allison, my condolences. I'm sorry for your loss."

Allison gave him a weak smile, but her parents eyed him suspiciously. Her father was staring at him with a particularly grave face, while her mother seemed to pierce him through with her icy eyes.

"Why are you here, Stiles?" Chris asked, his voice firm and intent. The sadness that lingered around Allison like a strangely suffocating cloud could only be found hidden deep in the older man's eyes, behind pain and betrayal and years of resignation, as if he'd always known that one day he'd be standing at his sister's grave.

"I'm sorry if my attendance is. . ." Stiles said hesitantly, his hand coming up to smooth the black tie he'd chosen against his shirt, " _offensive_ in any way. I just thought it was important that Allison knows she's not alone during these difficult times."

"Did Scott send you? Derek?" Chris asked, his anger only evident in the way his arm tensed under Victoria's increasingly tight grip.

Stiles clenched his jaw, not even wincing at the sound of his teeth clicking together as he fought to keep his instinctive _hurt_ and _rage_ under control. He exhaled slowly and loosened his fingers from the tight fists they had become. "Mr. Argent, you seem to be operating under the delusion that I take orders from Scott or Derek. Let me assure you that is _not_ the case. In fact, all of this would be easier if they took orders from me."

Inhaling sharply, he ignored the obvious looks of surprise the Argents gave him as he pressed the heel of his hand into his chest in a futile effort to stop the wild tugging that was happening to his heart.

"And why would that be?" Victoria spoke up, her voice just as icy and suspicious as her eyes. "What orders would you give them?"

"Oh, you know, something along the lines of _leave it be_ or _don't antagonize the hunters_ or maybe even _stay out of my sight so I never have to see your disgusting faces again_ ," Stiles answered, trying desperately to not let on that he was freaking out and cracking under pressure. He didn't think the obvious venom in his voice was helping him in that manner, but it did seem to satisfy Victoria.

Chris, however, had an alarming look of horror and realization spreading across his face. His eyes flicked between Stiles's face and the hand that was still pushing on his sternum. Stiles flinched under the scrutiny, silently begging Chris to not say anything.

"We should go sit," Allison said quietly, tugging on her mother's coat, "before the reporters get too restless."

"Go on," Chris insisted, pulling his arm away from Victoria. "Stiles and I will be right there."

One cursory glance at Chris and Victoria was leading Allison away quickly, shielding her with her coat and a mother's love. Stiles would have been amazed at how quickly the older woman was able to go from _no nonsense matriarch_ to _loving mother_ if watching the change hadn't meant that he was being left alone with Chris.

"Stiles," Chris spoke quietly, his voice taut and low. "Were you ever alone with Peter Hale?"

"Yes, for a few hours," Stiles answered, hoping his easy compliance would give him some points with Chris. It wouldn't do any good to get on his bad side, especially in front of Allison and a group of camera happy reporters.

"Did he bite you?" the older man asked urgently.

Stiles scoffed as believably as possible, shaking his head quickly. "I'm not a werewolf. I'm human, I promise. Completely, one-hundred-percent grade A unsupernatural."

Chris gripped Stiles's arms tightly, holding him still as he stared into his eyes. "Answer me honestly, Stiles. _Did he bite you?_ "

"Yes!" Stiles exclaimed, his voice shaking almost as hard as his hands. "Yes, he bit me!"

"Where?!" Chris pushed. "On your wrist? Your neck?"

"M-my neck," Stiles replied, going limp and still in Chris's strong hold. He stared up into the man's eyes as he spoke quietly. "He bit me on my neck and claimed me. He tied me to him, but it wasn't anything I didn't want."

The hands clutching his arms loosened slightly, Chris leaning back in confusion. "Why would you do that?"

"I knew what he was, what he did. I understood him, I wanted him," Stiles whispered brokenly. "I wanted some one to want me, to take care of me. He offered and I said yes."

"What happened after the bite?" Chris asked, staring at the way Stiles had his arms wrapped tightly around his middle, as if holding together broken pieces of himself.

"I woke up to a phone call from Scott," Stiles said, looking up at Chris. "'Peter's dead, Derek's the Alpha,' he said. Like that was it, the end. Everyone got what they wanted, except for me. I'm stuck with a knot around my heart, reaching. . .reaching into a future that I'll never have."

Chris brought a hand to his face and scrubbed it across his eyes. "That's because a mating bite like the one Peter gave you is supposed to be done during a time of intimacy. Without that, it can't settle like it's supposed to. Done right, a mating bond ties two people together. When one dies, the bond is broken, but it's still got two ends. The bond you have is endless, trailing into nothing. That might be why it's acting up so much."

Shaking his head in denial, Stiles turned to walk to where Allison was sitting with her mother and an elder man he had never seen before. "No, you're wrong. I felt him, when he bit me I felt his heart tie to mine. I don't know where exactly this bond ends, but I do know it ends with Peter."

He stepped away from Chris and made his way toward Allison, slipping around the reporters carefully and sighing when he noticed how they shied away from the sight of him.

"I'm sorry it took so long," he apologized, shrugging at Allison helplessly.

She smiled up at him, a small grin lined with sadness. "That's alright. Stiles, meet Gerard Argent. . .my grandfather."

The elder man stared at him with the same cold stare Victoria had, which was funny seeing as they weren't really related. Stiles could see hatred and the promise of pain lurking in Gerard's eyes, but he still tried to muster up a sympathetic smile for the man. He had lost his daughter, after all. "Sir, my condolences."

Gerard accepted Stiles's show of sympathy with a terse nod. "Tell me, boy, what do you know of my daughter's death?"

Stiles could see the suspicion lurking and knew he wanted no part of it. "It was tragic, sir."

 _Tragic that she's able to escape justice for her actions_ was left unspoken. He didn't think Gerard would appreciate the sentiment.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Stiles tugged on his tie as he walked into his room, trying futilely to get it off with one hand. The other hand was holding his suit jacket and his school bag because he knew if he didn't get it out of the Jeep when he did, he never would and then his homework wouldn't ever get done. He didn't think the teachers would accept _I was attending the funeral of my friend's serial killer aunt because she murdered my werewolf life partner and I wanted some higher power to know that it doesn't matter any more_ as a valid excuse for why it wasn't finished.

"That's a nice suit."

Spinning around, Stiles caught sight of Lydia Martin sitting on his bed. In his shirt and boxers.

"That's a nice shirt," he replied dumbly.

Lydia sniffed and looked down at the cartoon shark on her chest. "Blue's a good color on me. I wanted to wear the _stud muffin_ shirt, but I couldn't find it."

"It's in the laundry hamper," Stiles said, laying his jacket over his desk chair and dropping his bag on the floor. The tie finally came off and was laid over the jacket. "I wore it all weekend. The _jawsome_ is a good look for you, though. Much more accurate. What are you doing here?"

"I woke up here," Lydia answered, picking at the leg of the boxers she was wearing. Even when she borrowed clothing from a teenage boy she made sure to match, Stiles wondered as he recognized the bright blue boxers with tiny sharks printed on them. "It was an hour or so ago, but I think I've been here all day. I can't remember so I thought I would wait for you or your dad to get home."

"My dad?" Stiles asked, before he realized exactly what was going on. "Shit, Lydia! You've been missing for two days!"

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and started dialling his father's number, mumbling under his breath about _irresponsible teenage girls_ and _can't believe you were just going to wait_ and _that's one of my favorite shirts_.

"I can hear you," Lydia said, stretching out on the bed. "You should be a bit nicer to me, since I'm injured and all."

Stiles shot her a dark look, but the venomous comment he was gearing up for was cut off when his father answered his phone.

" _Stilinski."_

"Hey, Dad? You might want to come home. I found Lydia in my bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii! If you want to come beg for answers to why this chapter took so long, threaten me for faster updates, or just to cry over Stiles, you can find me on tumblr [here](http://www.stilesthesasswolf.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey, Dad? You might want to come home. I found Lydia in my bed."

_"Lydia? You mean Lydia Martin?"_

Despite the exhaustion that was slowly creeping over Stiles, he managed a tiny laugh- more a huff of air than anything else. "Yeah, that one."

His dad sighed heavily, the sound of his palm scraping over his face just barely audible to Stiles. _"Alright. I'll be home in thirty. Keep her calm and comfortable."_

"Sure thing, Dad," Stiles agreed, watching as Lydia stretched out across his bed, apparently having no problem whatsoever with magically appearing in someone's bedroom without being able to remember the past two days. "Be careful. I love you."

_"Love you, too, kiddo. Oh, and Stiles?"_

"Yeah?"

_"Do not get into your bed until Lydia is out of it."_

Scrunching his nose in distaste, Stiles pulled his phone away to frown at it. He brought it back to his ear quickly and opened his mouth, but dead silence was all he heard. Sighing, he dropped the phone on his desk and turned to look at Lydia again.

"Do you...need anything?" Stiles asked, dropping his eyes to where Lydia was plucking at a loose thread in the sheets absentmindedly.

Lydia turned her head to gaze at Stiles, pale and sleepy-eyed. "No, thanks. I ate when I came in. After I showered, of course."

A weak smile twitched at the corners of Stiles lips but, like Lydia in front of him, he just couldn't summon the energy to pull out the whole thing. "Of course."

"I think I'll just lay here until your dad gets here, if that's okay?" Lydia asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft and hesitant.

"Sure," Stiles nodded. He stood and wandered over to the dresser, pulling out a drawer roughly. "I'm just going to change into some pajamas, maybe do a little work. There's some important reading I need to do."

Scoffing, Lydia turned onto her side to watch Stiles with disinterested eyes, one arm curling under her head while the other tucked under her breasts. "That book for Mrs. Nelson isn't that important."

"No," Stiles agreed, dropping his slacks and unbuttoning his shirt with nimble fingers. "It isn't."

"So it isn't that."

"No," Stiles repeated.

"Something extracurricular then?"

Stiles didn't answer, all his attention on the pajama pants he was slipping on over thin hips. He ignored the shirt hanging out of the drawer as he carefully folded his button-up.

"Hold it!"

Freezing in place, Stiles stared down at his suddenly clenched fingers and tried to ignore the furious quickening of his heartbeat.

"What the Hell is that?"

"What is what?" he asked, turning his head to look at Lydia over his shoulder. She was sitting up in the bed, her horrified yet curious green eyes locked on Stiles.

"Oh, I don't know," Lydia said slowly, her voice dripping with acidic disbelief. "Maybe that huge bite mark curving down your neck?"

A curious sensation flooded through Stiles. It took him a moment to realize it was his body, fighting conflicting signals from his brain as it tried to pale and flush at the same time. As it was, it ended with a sick tingling in Stiles's limbs.

"It's nothing," he said, turning to the dresser and reaching for his shirt. It was soft and comfortable and, most importantly, _covering_.

Lydia, apparently, wouldn't accept that as an answer. She slid off the bed and walked over to Stiles, coming to a stop a few inches behind him. It was far enough that they weren't touching, but so close that he felt as if he could feel her heartbeat through his back.

"Just let me see."

Half of Stiles's body was yelling _nodontitsnothers_ while the other half was whispering _yeslookseehismark_.

"Lydia."

"It's okay," Lydia whispered soothingly, reaching out to Stiles slowly. Her hands landed on his shoulders before skimming softly up to his neck. "It's okay. I just want to see."

"Lydia, your hands are cold," Stiles spit out, his heart thudding heavily in his chest and the bond buzzing quietly. It was like the louder that voice in his head got, the more attention the bond was paying to what was happening.

"They always are," she said quietly. She pressed her fingertips into his skin a bit harder, warming them with his own body heat. They crept ever closer to the bite.

"Don't-"

The trailing fingers came to a stop. "Don't worry, I won't touch it. Promise."

"Just looking?" Stiles asked. His voice was trembling still but his body had stopped. Maybe because that voice was practically screaming at this point.

"Just looking," Lydia swore. "It's very interesting."

Stiles's heart jumped as a hard tug pulled on the bond. "What?!"

Laughing softly, Lydia took the fingers on her right hand, previously unoccupied, and ran them down Stiles's ribs in a ticklish pattern. "Interesting, Stiles. It looks like a bite mark, but it's very neat. Artistic, almost."

_Tug._

"You think so?"

"Oh, yes. I'd ask if it was a tattoo if I didn't know you were terrified of needles."

"No!" Stiles blurted out, dismayed at Lydia thinking the bite was anything other than what it was. "No. It's a bite."

"Really," Lydia said flatly, looking at the silvery scar closely. Something about it made her stomach drop, but not in a bad way. More like when she realized she had forgotten something important rather than the gross twisting that happened when she caught creeps eying her. Humming softly, she stepped away to give Stiles some room. "Well, it's certainly beautiful."

_Tug._

Stiles turned to look at her, flustered and shy. His shirt was still clutched to his chest, but his cheeks had settled into a soft blush of pleasure.

"I think so, too."

Lydia laughed again, still soft yet somehow reassured. "Well of course you do. It's yours."

_Tug._

Stiles smiled at her just as softly before tugging his shirt over his head, the fabric almost completely covering the bite. That was rectified when he brought his fingers up to trail over it, choking back a quiet giggle at the shivers that raced down his spine when he did.

"Where did you get it?"

 _Tellhertellhertellher_.

"A friend gave it to me," Stiles tried to hedge, moving to curl up on the corner of his bed.

Lydia looked at him knowingly from her place on the bed beside him. "I hope it was a very _good_ friend. It's very intimate...and permanent."

"Uh, yes?"

"You know what it reminds me of?" Lydia questioned rhetorically, humor and recognition shining in her eyes.

"No, not really," Stiles denied, shifting on the bed warily.

A victorious smile stretched Lydia's pale lips as she leaned forward conspiratorially. Her voice was soft and secretive as she said, "It reminds me of all that werewolf erotica I used to read in middle school."

_Tug. Tug. Tug._

"That's- that's ridiculous." Stiles tried to laugh but he knew it was hopeless as he saw satisfaction flash across Lydia's face.

"It is not," Lydia denied, confident in her answer. "And now you're going to tell me all about it."

Swallowing his nerves, Stiles tried to refuse her. "There's only a few minutes until my dad gets here. He doesn't know anything."

"We have at least ten. Looks like you better hurry."

_Tug. Shake. Shake. Shakeshakeshake._

If he didn't know any better, Stiles thought to himself as he brought a hand up to rub away the tingles that the shaking bond caused, he'd think Peter was laughing at him, wherever he was.

Actually, Stiles realized as Lydia started spitting out question after question, when it came to mystical werewolf mating bonds, he really _didn't_ know any better.

Fantastic.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Lydia smiled at him over her shoulder, following her mother out to her car. "See you at school, Stiles."

"Sure thing," Stiles said weakly, trying to fight down what felt like a permanent blush at this point. His face had been burning for nearly thirty minutes now.

After Lydia had gotten the whole 'werewolves are real' talk, she had gone on to ask Stiles about his bite, his relationship with Peter, and then every single question about werewolf mating habits that she could come up with in ten minutes. Some of them had been a bit depressing while others were more than a bit vulgar and embarrassing.

Stiles still wasn't sure whether all those questions about knotting had been Lydia messing with him or not. He certainly didn't buy her excuse about needing to know if Jackson became a werewolf. That glint in her eyes had been way too mischievous.

Shaking his head and laughing to himself, he turned to go to bed and froze as he caught sight of his father. The look on the sheriff's face made Stiles's face reheat.

"So, Lydia Martin."

"Uh, yes?" Stiles answered. To be honest, he didn't really understand the question. That was alright though because it looked like his dad was about to ask a hundred more.

"You weren't in bed with her, were you?" His dad asked, his serious sheriff expression tight on his face.

"No! Well, yes. But we had clothes on!" Stiles tried to explain, trying to push past his stumbling tongue and the renewed shaking of the bond around his heart. "I was dressed and she was dressed and she was laughing at me. Not like, in a bad way. Just, I said something and she thought it was funny. I didn't, but Lydia has a strange sense of humor."

The sheriff barked out a loud laugh, raising a hand to grasp Stiles's shoulder. "Alright, alright, just calm down. I was only teasing. I knew you wouldn't do anything to make her uncomfortable."

"I wouldn't. She's a friend," Stiles said quietly, looking up at his dad seriously. "Just a friend."

"Alright," his dad repeated, taking Stiles as his word. He brought his hand up and scrubbed it over Stiles's buzzcut, smiling down at him lovingly. "Why don't you go upstairs and get some sleep? You have school in the morning."

"I will. I just have some homework I need to finish first."

A disapproving frown tugged at the corners of the sheriff's mouth. "You didn't do it this afternoon?"

Stiles flushed and shifted on his feet. "Uh, no. I had detention with Mr. Harris and then I went with Allison to her aunt's funeral and when I got back Lydia was here."

The frown lightened but didn't disappear completely. "Detention? Again? Maybe I should talk to the school."

"No, it's fine. I was trying to get Scott to leave me along during our quiz but, since I was talking, I ended up with detention," Stiles explained, shrugging indifferently. "It wasn't too bad. Harris just let me finish my quiz and then let me go."

The sheriff eyed him for a long moment and then nodded. "If you say so."

"I say so."

"Alright then," the sheriff agreed, turning to go up the stairs to his own bed. He stopped when his hand hit the banister and curled his fingers around it tightly. "It was a good thing you did for Allison today. I'm sure she really appreciated you being there."

"That's what she said," Stiles said quietly, trying to ignore the remembered anger and sorrow that had churned his stomach all through the funeral. He hadn't expected to be so on edge, especially after hashing it out with Chris Argent, but something about Gerard had made him uneasy in the worst way.

They headed up the stairs in silence, splitting up at the landing. His dad went off to his room while Stiles stood at the door of his.

"I'll let the homework thing slide this time since it was an accident," the sheriff said from down the hall. "But try to get to sleep at a reasonable hour. I love you, Stiles."

"Love you, Dad," Stiles called, closing his door behind him. He rested against the cool wood for a moment before his roaming eyes caught sight of the huge books stacked on the headboard of his bed. Some of them were books he had checked out when Scott was first bitten; he never returned the ones that seemed more truthful. Honestly, what would any other patron of the Beacon Hills Library need with factual werewolf books?

The others were the ones he had recently picked up here and there. Yard sales, used bookstores, and that shady occult shop over in Beacon Heights had helped expand his collection a lot over the past week or so.

It was his attempt at researching the strange happenings of his bond with Peter. Unfortunately, the more helpful the book seemed, the harder it was to decipher the dry language. It was because of this that he'd only made it through a book and a half.

As such, he was ready to spend the entire night slogging through the second half of one of the more helpful texts. Tucking himself into bed, he grabbed the only book with a black leather cover and sighed heavily.

It was going to be a long night.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Just as the sky started to lighten to a dark gray, Stiles closed the book and blinked furiously, trying to bring some moisture to his long dry eyes.

So far, almost all he had discovered was what he'd managed to guess on his own with a little help from the older books and what Peter had told him. The neck was the place for mating bites, humans given a mating bite enjoyed certain perks, and death to one bite holder led to the death of the other.

What he hadn't known was that, when it came to mating bites, werewolves scarred just like humans. Even if it was the human that had given the wolf the bite. He hadn't even known that mating bites were supposed to be a trade, shared between two people instead of only going from one person to the other. He had a feeling that that was the root of his problems. It didn't explain everything, of course, but it made more sense than anything else.

If Peter could feel the bond, wherever he was, he had complete access to Stiles's emotions. He could feel every flash of happiness, every spark of anger, and every wave of sadness. He knew exactly what Stiles was feeling because that was how the bond worked. How else would a wolf know if they were pleasing their mate?

Had Stiles had the time to return the bite- something that Stiles was still a little uncomfortable with because, come on, he did not want blood in his mouth even if it was Peter's- he would have the same sort of insight to Peter's emotions. But he hadn't had that time, hadn't even known that he needed it. He'd gone off with a half-idea, a vague sense of what he wanted but no real clue how to get it, just like always.

And because of that, because of Stiles's perpetual stupidity, he now had a dead mate and a incomplete bond that reacted at the strangest things. Because of his impulsive behavior, he was in a worse shape than he was before Peter bit him.

Worst of all, he still didn't have any clue what the strange force that had knocked Derek out of the window had been. Or when it would act up again. Or how to stop it.

"But that's going to have to wait," Stiles muttered to himself, burrowing down into his blankets. His eyes hurt and his chest ached and his head was throbbing. It was obvious he wouldn't get anymore reading done soon. Hopefully, he'd be able to get at least an hour or two of sleep before he had to be up for school.

Hearing his dad get up for his shift, stumbling through the house half-asleep, Stiles didn't think that that would be happening either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very very sorry that it took this long for me to update this story. I feel horrible but I don't have any excuses soooo. Also, this chapter is dedicated to [theapplesweremonitored](http://theapplesweremonitored.tumblr.com) since she unknowingly guilt tripped me about updating lol.
> 
> If you would also like to guilt trip me, you can find me [here on tumblr](http://stilesthesasswolf.tumblr.com).


	5. Chapter 5

The last thing Stiles wanted to do was spend his afternoon on the sidelines of the lacrosse field, watching as Scott and Jackson threw themselves against each other violently and everyone else pretended as if that was how lacrosse was played. He wanted nothing more than to throw his stuff down and leave just to get _away_ from everything, but he'd already changed too obviously to get away with that sort of behavior. It was nice to imagine though.

At least, it was until he noticed his dad coming onto the field, two deputies with him as he pulled Isaac Lahey away from the team.

“Wonder what that's about.”

Stiles turned to look at Lydia who had just appeared behind him, ignoring Jackson's glare. He patted the hand that had slipped into the crook of his elbow and smiled, both at the fond look in Lydia’s soft green eyes and the warm vibrating of the bond around his heart.

“I think I'll have to take my dad dinner tonight,” Stiles said as he gathered his stuff. “Rain check on the study group?”

“Sure,” Lydia nodded, following him to the parking lot. “I'll ask Allison if she wants to meet up at her house instead.”

Stiles frowned as he opened the door to his jeep and threw his stuff into the back. “Be careful.”

Lydia rolled her eyes.

“I'm serious, Lydia,” Stiles said, voice quiet but firm. “You know that Gerard is dying to get his hands on you to see what makes you tick.”

“I know,” Lydia said just as quietly. She waited for Stiles to shut the door and leaned through the window. “You'll be careful at the station?”

A sharp tug on the bond made Stiles wince. “Don't worry, my dad will be there. I'll be fine.”

At least he hoped he would, Stiles thought to himself as he made his way to the sheriff's station. He tried to ignore his anxiety, something that had been ramping up all day, and tried to think only about what he should pick up for dinner for his father.

By the time he actually walked into his father's office, food in hand, Stiles was almost vibrating with nerves.

“Hey, Dad!” Stiles greeted, inwardly flinching at the way his father's eyebrow jumped in surprise at his cheerfulness. “I brought dinner.”

“Thanks, son,” his dad said as he stood from his desk. “But I don't really have time.”

“Come on,” Stiles said as he shook the bag. “It's real meat, I promise.”

His dad hesitated just long enough for Stiles to trap him. “Extra fries?”

“With extra fries,” Stiles promised solemnly. He pumped his free fist in victory when his dad sat back down.

“Thanks,” the sheriff said again as he reached for the bag. “Now you should get home. I'm sure you have plenty of homework that needs to be done.”

“I finished it at practice,” Stiles replied, ignoring the familiar look of disapproval. “So if you have anything here you need help with, I'm free.”

“I'm fairly caught up, but…”

“What? What is it?”

His dad grimaced, a common expression when he had to ask for help, especially with his job. “Could you go check on the Lahey kid? I know he's a suspect, but he's still a kid in a holding cell.”

“Lahey? _Isaac_ Lahey?” Stiles asked, staring at his dad in genuine shock. “You put him in a _cell_?”

“His father is dead,” the sheriff replied quietly. “He was the last one seen with the man. You know how it is, Stiles.”

“Oh my God, you think Isaac killed his dad?!” Stiles shook his head, trying to shake off his unreasonable anger and stop his dad from talking at the same time. “Fine, yeah, I'm going to check on him.”

He slipped out of his father's office and made his way to the hallway where the cells were, waving at the deputies as he passed.

“Isaac?”

Frowning, Stiles slowed down and listened to what he thought might be whimpers. He reached Isaac's cell and stopped, barely leaning around the doorway to see inside.

A red haze covered his vision as he took in what exactly he was seeing. An unfamiliar man dressed as a deputy had his arm through Isaac's as he held him in place, his other hand holding a syringe filled with a disturbing purple liquid. Isaac hung limp against the man, his eyes dully flashing gold.

“Get off of him!” Stiles shouted as he charged forward, barely dodging the elbow the man threw in his direction. He grabbed the man's shoulder and pulled just as his bond went wild. “I said _GET OFF!_ ”

A loud thump echoed around the room as the man hit the wall, head cracking against the concrete with a sick noise. His body slumped to the ground unconscious.

Breathing heavily, Stiles laid a trembling hand over his heart and turned to Isaac. “Are you okay?”

Isaac whimpered and curled into a tight ball, staying as close to the wall as he could manage. He stared at Stiles pathetically, whining every time his eyes flashed or his fangs grew.

“Hey, it's okay,” Stiles said soothingly, slowly reaching out with his free hand. Kneeling down onto the ground, he shifted until he was against the wall beside Isaac and pulled the boy to his side, curling around him protectively. “It's okay, cub, you're okay. I'm here, it's alright. Where is your Alpha? Why did he leave you here on the full moon?”

Shivering in Stiles's embrace, Isaac cleared his throat but before he could answer a soft trill cut through the room.

Stiles sighed and reached for his pocket to grab his phone, rubbing his hand through Isaac's curls when he started to whimper again.

“Hello?”

“Stiles, thank God!” Lydia practically yelled across the line. “Are you at the station yet?”

“Yes but-”

“Is your dad there?”

“Well, yeah. Lydia-”

“Listen, there's a hunter headed your way. Apparently Derek gave Isaac the Bite,” Lydia rushed out her words but her thoughts on Derek's choices were still coming through loud and clear. “Gerard sent a hunter out to get him almost twenty minutes ago-”

“Lydia-”

“-but Allison is right behind him so-”

“Lydia-”

“-don't worry-”

“LYDIA!”

The line went silent just long enough for Stiles to take a deep breath before Lydia spoke again.

“He's already there, isn't he?”

“Let's see,” Stiles said as calmly as possible, knowing his agitation was only making that of Isaac and the bond worse. “About six foot, dark hair, pronounced forehead? Dressed as a deputy? Yeah, he's here.”

“Where?” Lydia demanded.

“In the floor,” Stiles said dryly. “Unconscious.”

“Not dead?” Lydia asked, her voice almost disappointed.

“No, Lydia, I didn't kill a rogue werewolf hunter in the middle of the sheriff's station where my dad, by the way, happens to be the sheriff!” Stiles practically hissed, lowering his voice when he heard footsteps headed his way. “Look, I've got to go. I'll call you and Allison when I get home.”

Stiles had just enough time to end the call and shove his phone back into his pocket before his dad burst through the doorway and froze.

“What the Hell happened?!” The sheriff demanded.

Stiles pointed at the man still laying unconscious on the other side of the room. “He did it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this chapter is kinda short but i'm planning on updating again soon so it's okay, okay? great.
> 
> btw, come talk to me on [tumblr ](http://stilesthesasswolf.tumblr.com) if there's something specific you'd like to see in this story.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles’s dad blinked dumbly at the scene in front of him. “Excuse me?”

“He did it,” Stiles repeated, gesturing to the unconscious man with his head.

“Who _is_ he?” His dad asked with a frown. He stared at the man laying in the floor suspiciously, taking in his fake uniform and the gun stuck in his belt.

Stiles resisted the urge to wince when his dad turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. Between the broken glass of the syringe hiding under his leg and the werewolf claws pricking his chest, he was slowly coming down from the adrenaline rush, leaving him fuzzy headed and in no shape to come up with a clever lie.

“I don't know him,” Stiles said truthfully. “I came to check on Isaac like you told me and he was in here threatening him, trying to take him away. I pulled him off of Isaac and pushed him into the wall. He...He hit his head when he fell.”

Stiles held his breath, watching as his dad processed his story and tried to determine how much of it was true. He was sort of known for lying, after all.

“I'm glad I asked you to check on Isaac, then,” his dad said decisively before glaring at him with parental concern. “But you should've called for help instead of trying to take him down yourself.”

Shrugging, Stiles tightened his arms around Isaac and buried his face in his shirt, trying to quiet the soft growls that started at his dad's criticism.

“I was worried about Isaac,” he claimed. Technically he had been. If the hunter had managed to capture Isaac, he might’ve led Gerard to Derek and that was a whole mess Stiles just didn't want to get into right now. Not with his bond with Peter acting up and the sudden emergence of magic powers.

The sheriff sighed and made his way over to the man in the floor who was slowly waking up. He took his handcuffs from his belt and snapped them around his wrists.

“I don't know who you are or what you thought you were doing when you decided to impersonate an officer and kidnap a minor,” he said conversationally as he pulled the man up roughly. “What I do know is that you are definitely being charged with those offenses.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Stiles said quietly, passing him on his way to the front of the station. “Do you mind if I take Isaac to the house?”

The sheriff looked at Isaac, who was leaning against Stiles pale and wild-eyed, and shook his head sighing. “Go ahead. Just don't stay up too late.”

“No, sir,” Stiles agreed before leading a complacent Isaac out to his jeep. “Come on, pup. Let's go get you a shower and some food.”

-x-x-x-x-

After Stiles had managed to get Isaac into the shower and sat at the dining table with some warm pasta in front of him, he thought he could finally relax.

Of course, that was when he remembered he needed to call and check on Lydia and Allison who were near hysterical with worry. By the time he'd gotten off the phone with them, his dad had come in. While he was playing the good son and fixing his dad a drink, he'd realized that Isaac had been waiting for him to eat and hadn't touched anything on his long cold plate. He'd popped it into the microwave for a few minutes and had just sat down to fix his own plate when there was a knock on the door.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Stiles muttered under his breath. He dropped his fork onto his plate and stood, waving his dad off. “I've got it. Isaac, please eat something. I'll be right back.”

“Where is he?” Derek demanded as soon as Stiles opened the door.

Anger heated Stiles’s cheeks. He clenched his fists, smothering the magic that was sparking the palms of his hands at the sight of Derek and his Alpha red eyes.

“Why do you care?” Stiles asked steadily, the fire in his eyes not melting the ice in his voice.

“He's my Beta,” Derek admitted quietly, backing down at Stiles’s attitude. He clearly remembered what happened the last time he'd managed to really upset Stiles.

“I know!” Stiles snapped. “Let's ignore how completely stupid it was for you to Bite someone while Gerard freaking Argent is in town and focus on how you left your newly turned Beta in a holding cell on the full moon!”

Derek flinched back but his eyes flared red, unknowingly enraging Stiles further. “Let me talk to Isaac.”

“Stiles?” His dad called from the dining room. “Is everything okay? Who's at the door?”

“Just a friend from school!” Stiles called back, glaring at Derek. He lowered his voice and whispered furiously. “Isaac is staying here until the situation with his father is figured out and he certainly doesn't need a former murder suspect hanging around to make things worse for him. Goodbye, Derek.”

Stiles slammed the door closed and smirked at the tiny yelp he heard when Derek tried to open it again. Apparently, his new powers were good for something as they had electrified the door to keep Derek out.

“Alright,” he said cheerfully when he walked into the dining room and saw Isaac's empty plate. “Who wants dessert?”

-x-x-x-x-

“I appreciate you letting me stay, Stiles,” Isaac whispered later that night as they laid in bed cuddling.

Stiles had thought the bond would protest at least a little but it had been quiet all night. At least, until Stiles had changed into his pajamas. Isaac had stared at the bite for a split second before lowering his eyes respectfully, a blush brightening his pale cheeks. The bond had flared with heat and Stiles found himself mothering Isaac even more, much to the discomfort of the boys.

“It's nothing,” Stiles said breezily, completely ignoring the fact that his hand was carding through Isaac's curls soothingly.

Isaac had been practicing the same ignorance until then. He gently moved his head away from Stiles’s hand and raised up to look at Stiles with burning gold eyes.

“It's not nothing,” he said forcefully. “It's more than anything anyone has ever done for me, except for maybe Derek with his Bite. I think I'm already regretting that, though.”

The bond thrummed unhappily at that and Stiles winced. He brought his hand up to lay over his heart, waiting for the sharp pain to subside.

“Don't regret it, Isaac,” Stiles whispered pleadingly as he stared up at the Beta. “A werewolf bite is the best gift you could ever receive. Just because Derek is a shit Alpha doesn't mean you have to regret getting the Bite.”

Tears of exhaustion pricked at the backs of Stiles’s eyes. It had only been a few short days since Peter had died and Stiles was already so tired of doing everything alone. According to everything he'd read, he should've been in the middle middle of a blissful honeymoon, celebrating his mating. Instead, his mate was dead, their bond was slowly killing him, his town was crawling with hunters, and the wolf who'd murdered his mate - technically his step-nephew - was going around turning teenagers at the spur of the moment, leaving them to regret it.

“Please,” Stiles begged, pretending he couldn't feel the hot tears sliding down his cheeks.”Please don't regret the Bite, Isaac. This can be a good thing, a beautiful thing.”

“Will you show me?” Isaac asked, clearly pained at the sight of Stiles’s tears.

The idea took root in Stiles’s brain immediately. Would he even be able to show Isaac the benefits of being a wolf? The glory of it? Could he show him how to protect himself from the hunters, or at least learn with him? Protect him, teach him, raise him, in effect stealing Derek’s Beta from him?

“Yes.”

“What?”

Stiles took a deep breath and looked up at Isaac, staring into his wide gold eyes. He saw his own staring back, a faint red tinge to the usual honey brown.

“Yes,” Stiles repeated. “I'll show you what it means to be a wolf. A true wolf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm a horrible person. It's just hard to write for a fandom you've sort of slid out of. I promise that I'll never abandon this fic or TGBAHM though. And if you want a quick response to complaints you can message me on [tumblr.](http://delicatesammy.tumblr.com)


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